Dear Dean, I Love You
by Kandakicksass
Summary: Dean finds, under a mountain of research while looking for the porn that Sam didn't own, even if Dean thought that, at fifteen, he should , a beautifully written three page letter, the one thing he never thought he'd see or ever want to...
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Dean finds, under a mountain of research (while looking for the porn that Sam didn't own, even if Dean thought that, at fifteen, he should), a beautifully written three page letter in Sam's distinctly girly bubble writing, but it's the one thing Dean never thought he'd see, and the one thing he never thought he wanted to until he did…**

**Warning: WINCEST. Oh, yes, DeanxSam full on sex. Get over it. They deserve some happiness, too xD.**

It was three in the morning and Sam Winchester was still awake. Yeah, he was being kind of ridiculous, but for a fifteen year old who had not yet mastered the art of careful and discrete observation, it was necessary. It wasn't as if he could watch Dean while he was awake, anyway, because even if Dean didn't catch on, John definitely would, if he hadn't already.

Sam shook his head to clear it; he couldn't think about stuff like that. If John had figured it out, he was screwed into the bowels of hell, for sure. And yeah, he was being ridiculous again, because it wasn't as if John was Lucifer incarnate, but he'd be in some pretty deep shit, even if he didn't say it out loud. What kind of kid lusts after his own brother? Maybe lust was too vague a word. Sam was pretty sure it was love.

Yeah.

Pretty sure.

And he wanted to tell Dean himself, he really did. It wasn't like he was doing this on purpose, sneaking around, watching the nineteen year old as he slept. Hello, that was _so _not what he was doing. _So_.

Even though he really was. The point. He wanted to tell Dean. But how would someone like Dean (protective and bossy) deal with it when his younger brother of a very innocent personality (Dean-proclaimed virgin emo nerd) told him that he was actually deeply in love with him? He didn't want to know. Really. He super didn't.

So that would be why Sam Winchester (15) is up at three in the morning, watching as his older brother, Dean Winchester (19) sleeps.

Ugh.

They were so fucked up.

Sam sighed softly, looking into the window. It was dark out, reflecting Sam's pretty boy face and head full of mahogany curls. He frowned at himself; no way Dean would ever take him seriously. He looked like he was at least two years younger than he was. Hell, _no one _took him seriously, not even Bobby! It was shit, truth be told. Sure, it was helpful sometimes, like when he wanted Dean to do something for him (i.e. get him a bag of chips when he didn't want to get up) but it so far hadn't worked on the whole Make-Dean-Mine Campaign.

So he suffered in silence, keeping whatever it was alive by small touches; falling asleep (or pretending to, anyway) on Dean's lap or chest, pressing their legs together, that sort of thing. And Dean was such a fucking moron he hadn't gotten it.

Three thirty was where Sam drew the line. Like it or not, they started school the next day. Dean was pretending to be seventeen, so he could watch over his Sammy during the school day, which was pretty fucking protective in Dean's book, because he hated school. Sam was pretty sour about the whole thing, though, because he knew Dean had an ulterior motive: to bang some girl during lunch block.

Yeah, he knew Dean's style better than Dean himself. He'd be polite and charming, or a total bad boy, depending on who he was trying to impress, and lure them to the bathroom for a quick shag before whatever stupid class he had next.

And it wasn't as if Sam didn't get offers either, because he did. Sam had this stupid notion, though, that he wanted to lose his virginity to Dean. Which probably wasn't going to happen. But a kid can hope, right?

But right now, Sammy couldn't hope, because he was about to climb into bed with said object of affections. Dammit.

But Sam did, he crawled in under the covers, rolling so that he was practically spooning with Dean, which was one of his more mushy fantasies that he should probably be embarrassed for, but wasn't.

"Shammy?" Dean slurred in sleep.

"Cold," Sam lied. "Go back to sleep. 'M okay." Dean, in a typical show of brotherly affection, wrapped his arm around Sam's waist. This was Dean keeping Sam safe.

Sam liked that.

***

Sam woke up the next morning alone, which upset him. He frowned and sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand, uncovering himself with the other. Dean usually put him in his own bed when things like this happened, so he was also surprised to find that the pillow underneath him smelled like the nineteen year old and the sheets around him were warm on Dean's side of the bed. Sam buried his face in a pillow, ridiculously bent on having it stuck in his head all day for him to think about while John put him to work or whatever he'd wanted Sam to do.

"Dean?" he called out, swinging his legs off the bed and planting his feet on the cold wooden floor. "Dean, are you home?" He knew John wasn't; he'd left on a hunting trip a week ago and wasn't due home for another week. He usually didn't leave the boys alone for so long, but Dean was nineteen now, and Sam was fifteen. They could be trusted for two weeks to stay alive.

"I'm in the kitchen, Sammy," Dean called. "Makin' breakfast."

Sam wrinkled his nose, but he was smiling. He liked it when Dean tried to cook for him… just not what he cooked.

"By 'make', I hope you mean put toaster waffles in the toaster," Sam teased lightly, walking into the small kitchen, his eyes light. He was still clad in pajamas, and so was Dean. Dean waggled his eyebrows.

"Toaster Strudels," he corrected and Sam laughed. "Delicious, yet strangely easy for even someone who burns water to cook."

"I wouldn't call it 'cooking', Dean," Sam chuckled. "More like being lazy." Dean sat down, rolling his eyes.

"God, you're such a difficult little fucker," he sighed, setting the strudel in front of the younger teenager.

"And you're such a fucking stud," he shot back, not entirely joking.

The insult proved only to remind Sam about what had happened Thursday, which he really didn't want to think about.

He'd been walking home from school, which he went to fleetingly, and along the way, he'd heard something in the ally just short of a scream. Raised the way he was, Sam immediately sprung to the offensive, jumping to conclusions. He had thought it had been a demon or something, when…

He saw Dean.

He knew Dean hooked up with girls all the time, but this was the first time he had been with a guy as far as Sam knew. He couldn't look away even when his eyebrows pushed together from first surprise, then hurt, then anger, then jealousy.

And that's when Sam tried, tried so hard to look away. He didn't want to be jealous of this anonymous stranger who was hooking up with Dean, but he was. He was _so _jealous. He wished he was the one with Dean's hand on his cock.

Sam's grip on his messenger bag had tightened and he shook with pain and anger before he stomped away before Dean saw him. He thought maybe the guy Dean had been fucking might have seen him, but Dean didn't mention it, and Sam figured he was clear.

"Jeez, Sam, does it really bother you that much?" Dean asked, frowning. "Damn, why do you always have to ruin it?"

"Ruin what, Dean?" he snapped, his hands tightening on the water bottle left on the table from yesterday.

"The good mood," he specified, gesturing vaguely to the air around them. "We wake up, get through five minutes, and after that we're at each other's throats. Can't we get through one day like brothers? Huh?"

"Well, maybe if you didn't call me a girl, or a fucker, than we'd get along better," Sam suggested, feigning nonchalance.

"You called _me _a stud!" Dean pointed out. "And I didn't get all pissy about it, did I?"

"That's cause you're used to it!" Sam complained. "Because it's _true_!"

"You know what I think, Sammy?" Dean snapped.

"What?" he shot back.

"I think you need to get laid," he announced scathingly and left with that. Sam watched him go, conflicting emotions telling him both to let Dean leave and to stop Dean from leaving.

He had no idea which side he should lean on, but Sam got up almost automatically and followed him, catching him around the waist just before he left the apartment. Yeah, he was being a dick, but he loved Dean and he didn't want Dean pissed at him.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled into his back, and Dean visibly relaxed.

"It's cool," he sighed. "I'm sorry, too." Then he looked over his shoulder and grinned at Sam. "Wanna finish breakfast, or do you want to head over to, oh, I don't know… maybe Cornerstone?"

"Ice cream for breakfast?" Sam asked, his lips quirking upward.

Dean shrugged casually. "I've been hungry for cookie dough ice cream, and John'll be back in an hour or two with work for us, so I figured—"

"I'm in!" Sam cheered, letting go of Dean reluctantly and running to grab his coat from his room. He changed into a pair of jeans, and called out for Dean to do the same. Groaning, the elder marched into the room, dropping his soft cotton pants with no shame, and pulling a pair of jeans on.

Sam's eyes latched on Dean's crotch, his eyes going wide and his face going red in a matter of seconds. His fingers lingered on the snap of his jeans, too distracted to finish buttoning them up. For a second, he thought Dean's eyes snapped to his and he panicked before Dean buttoned and zipped his jeans, giving Sam a wide grin.

"_Now _can we go eat ice cream for breakfast?" And Sam laughed, like he always did. God, how he loved Dean.

"Sure," he gave in, and took Dean's hand, following him out. Dean's body was tense and Sam wanted to ask him why, but he got the vague idea such an inquiry would not be welcomed. Sam was a little afraid as it was. After last night, he was being a little more open about his blatant staring and day dreaming. Hell, maybe he'd even talked about how much he loved Dean in his sleep.

But Dean didn't let go of his hand, and that was a good thing, because the tighter he held Sam's hand, the more he knew he loved him.

They were such a fucked up pair, Sam sighed mentally. Dean, so attention starved for anyone who didn't just want his dick, and Sam, starved for attention, period. Once upon a time, he'd begged Dad for that sort of love, but John wasn't exactly the babying type and Dean was the one who'd hugged Sam and told him it wasn't because John didn't love him. That might have been when it started, he mused. It just might have been.

"You gonna get in the car, or what?" Dean asked with raised eyebrows, eyeing the hand still firmly attached to his. Normally, at this point, Sam would let go with a little sigh of disappointment and clambered into the passenger's side, taking Dean's hand again once they were in the car, only letting go if John showed up. John didn't exactly enjoy seeing the two attached at the hip, either. Asshat. Probably made him feel guilty.

Today, though, Sam's face flushed a delicate crimson.

"Sorry," he muttered, letting go. He watched Dean get into the car out of the corner of his eye and climbed in himself, skinny, gangly Sam climbing into the same car with strong, filled out Dean.

"Sorry for what?" Dean asked uncomfortably, and Sam chuckled nervously.

"Nothing, except trying to live off brotherly love."

Dean lightened up and gave him a grin. "You're such a fucking girl, you wuss." Sam made a face and Dean started the engine.

"Quit calling me a girl!" he whined. "I'm not a girl! You know that!" Dean sniggered, pulling out of the driveway. "So, do you know what Dad's up to?" Dean gave him a bright smile.

"None at all!" he sang and Sam rolled his eyes. He knew Dean was still a little sore over being left behind, but it was good that he was being so… happy go lucky, even though it was kind of scary, too.

Sam really wasn't interested in hunting, to be completely honest, but he knew Dean liked to talk about it, and, well, he liked to have Dean happy.

"So, what flavor are you gonna get, baby brother?" Dean asked him, leaning back in his seat, his eyes flickering to Sam and back to the road.

"I'm not sure. Mint chip?" Dean snorted.

"Come _on_, Sammy. You can get mint chip pretty much anywhere. This is Cornerstone! They have flavors you'll never get to taste again!"

"Until the next time we go," he contradicted, rolling his eyes.

"Of course!" Dean laughed, and pulled up at the familiar brick ice cream parlor. "Hey, Danny!"

Sam froze, half way out of the car, as Dean greeted the good-looking senior.

It was the very same guy Dean had screwed into oblivion the week before. Sam fought hard to keep his expression smooth, shut the car door with a little more force than was necessary, and walked around, taking Dean's hand. Dean looked down at him, giving him a 'what the hell, let go!' look, which he ignored, forcing Dean to introduce him.

"Um, Danny, this is my brother, Sam. Sam, this is Danny," he said slowly, obviously wondering what Sam was up to.

"Hey, kid," Danny greeted him with a sexy smile and Sam could practically _see _the threesome idea forming in his mind.

"Hello," Sam returned flatly, holding on tighter to his brother's hand. Danny shifted uneasily.

"You guys, ah, goin' in?" he asked Dean, making a point of not making eye contact with Sam.

"Yes, we are," Sam answered for him cooly. "Are you?" Danny's eyes widened.

"I'm, ah, going to—pick something up and then I have to go!" he announced, chuckling nervously and Sam's lips curled up cruelly.

"Damned shame," he said calmly. "Maybe next time?"

"Y-yeah," he replied uneasily and hurried in, leaving a very satisfied Sam to deal with a very pissed off Dean.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed, yanking his hand from Sam's. Sam frowned at that and gave Dean his best innocent look.

"I didn't do anything, Dean."

"Bullshit," he snapped. "Why did you do that?" Sam frowned deeper, his eyes searching Dean's.

"I just wanted it to be, you know, you and me today. I figured you'd want to eat with him, but I just want to hang out with you," he explained in a half-lie, because it was true enough, but there were other reasons why Sam didn't want Dean and Danny together. Dean's eyes softened.

"Jeez, you can be scary when you want to be," he muttered, letting Sam take his hand again. "And you're clingy. You're a fifteen year old kid—"

"Who looks like a thirteen year old kid," he added, clearly pouting.

"—who still likes to hold hands with his big brother," Dean finished for him, smiling down at him. Sam looked away, like he was sulking, but inside he was cheering. Dean squeezed his hand and they walked in together.

(Three days later)

Sam wasn't home, and Dean was bored of his decidedly delectible ass.

Dean knew his little brother was a fucking innocent; hell, _everyone _knew, from Dean and Dad to normal people who had no idea who they really were. So as such, Sam's innocence was not new news. Like, at all. But surely Sam had to have _something_, somewhere, because John had made him throw away all of his old _Busty Asian Beauties_, which kinda pissed him off, and Sam always hid Dean's backups for him.

The mountains of paperwork and research were, well, mountainous, but he figured, where else to look for porn? Somewhere no one would find it. And really, who wanted to go through all of _that_!?

It was all research, surprisingly, and that made Dean smile. His little nerdy Sammy would never change and he couldn't say he wanted him to. It was his innocence he admired so much, even though he'd never admit it to Sam.

Though, at the bottom of the pile, he found three pages of notebook paper, not the printer paper he was accustomed to, in Sam's feminine teenage girl bubble handwriting.

At first, he planned to ignore it; it must have been private (hello, it's not as if Sam writes letters to pen pals with Dean sneaking peeks over his shoulder obnoxiously). But then, Dean saw… well, he saw his name. And after that, he couldn't help reading it. And that was the biggest problem of all. Everything that happened after that was totally Dean's fault. Nothing would have gone down if he hadn't read that stupid letter.

_Dear Dean,_

_I feel like that should have been "dear John"—probably because I've had to write enough of those. I'd never tell you something like that. That is not what this is. It's not. This is a totally different kind of letter._

_I'm fifteen now, Dean. Your baby bro is a teenager now, Dean. Do you know that? I don't plan on giving you this letter for a long time, Dean. Maybe you'll know by then. You might be thirty by the time I work up the nerve to give this to you. _

_Dean, I need to say this to you, and since I can't do this physically, I'll write it down and give it to you when my issues clear up. I'm sure it's impossible to just tell you, Dean. So I'll just say it._

_I love you._

_Before you groan and say "drama queen, I already know that" and put down my confession, that's not what I mean._

_I really love you. As in, not just the way a fifteen year old kid loves his brother. _

_I'm __in__ love with you, Dean. I always have been, Dean, ever since I was old enough to like anybody, ever. I swear, Dean, I'm not delusional. I love you, Dean, more than you'll probably ever know. You know my handwriting, Dean. You know this isn't a prank. When you see this in twenty years and you think 'man, why doesn't Sam write like this anymore?', keep that in mind. This is me. I'm in love with you, Dean. I love you._

_Tonight, I crawled into bed with you, Dean. When you woke up, you were so embarrassed because you had an erection, a real erection, and you didn't know why when I was in bed with you. _

_That was my fault, Dean. It was all my fault. One you'd gone back to sleep after I'd woken you up, I had moved just so. I don't know if I'll ever know what you were dreaming about, Dean, mostly 'cause hopefully, by the time you get this, I'll be long gone. I doubt you'll ever love me again after reading this and I do not want to be there to see it. So yeah. I made you cum. I was there, Dean, so fucking close and the minute your cock bumped into mine, you were rock hard. How could I refuse that? Right, Dean. I couldn't._

_I'm not saying it wasn't stupid, either, Dean, because it was. I'm not a total incestuous freak of a moron, Dean. I knew it was stupid. I just ignored the little voice that was telling me I was being a dumbass, Dean._

_I kissed you, that night. Oh, I did, and I loved it. I loved kissing you, soft and sweet, even more than I liked jacking off on you, Dean. I really did. Call me a girl, Dean. You just go ahead and call me a girl. I don't care. Say what you want. I deserve it at this point. Fuck that. I'm past deserving it, Dean._

_So now you know. This isn't the end, Dean, trust me. There's a lot more I have to say, but that was the main point. You know now. All my issues, a lot of it went—goes—back to that, Dean. All my problems are because I love you._

_The second most important thing on my personal shit list: I drank, Dean. You just thought you got too drunk to remember all the drinks you had, which would explain why there are always so many beers you don't remember drinking in the trash. I'm a kid, Dean. I'm not discreet when it comes to disposal of cans._

_But yeah. I love you, Dean. I'm a kid, and it's a shit thing to do, but when I want to forget, I drink. It's not like you don't do it daily._

_I know I'm messed up, Dean. I'm not an idiot. Sometimes, I want to forget how I feel about you so bad it hurts. So I drink. No, Dean, drinking doesn't make me forget. It helps me, in some sort of fucked-up way to forget that how I feel about you is wrong._

_Then, you know what? Last week, I caught you with someone. A guy. Girls I'm used to. I'm not a girl, as much as you like to say so. I understand your everlasting need for women, Dean. But why a guy? I could satisfy you better than any guy, Dean. I'm a guy. And you don't see it! How blind can one guy be, really? But whatever, Dean. The point. I drink. And that's about your damn ass, too. Because I love you, Dean, and I can't turn it off._

_Trust me. _

_I've tried._

_HARD._

_Point numero tres: there isn't one, really, that doesn't go back to "why the hell don't you get it? Are you that thick? Were you born that way? Hunh?" But again, moot point._

_By the way, I think you were. Born that way, I mean. But still. I trust you. I give you everything. Everything._

_That's what I told Michelle, too, when she asked if I'd ever been into someone, really into them. She'd thought it was cute, Dean. You'd find it repulsive._

_I'm sure you will remember Michelle. You liked her, and she liked me. The first time I'd ever been preferred over you, the first time you've been turned down. I'm sure one day you'll get really cheesy and chicks will stop liking you, but until then, Michelle will be one-of-a-kind._

_God, I loved her. The only one who wouldn't fuck you. That might have been it, though._

_God, I love you so fucking much, Dean._

_I love you so much._

_With all my love and then some,_

_Sam_

_PS: My handwriting isn't girly, Dean. Stop saying it is. Pisses me off when you say that._

_Still love you,_

_Sam_

Dean's whole body shook.

And the thing was, hearing that Sam was in love with him and rubbed off on him would be a total jeans creamer, if it weren't for the fact that the beautiful fifteen year old was his brother.

**Chapter one is in effect!!! I wrote the letter before I wrote everything else. The letter from Sam to Dean is very important, so if you like this story, memorize it.**

**Kandakicksass is OUT, ya'll!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Expect to be seeing a lot more of my OC, Holly Witherson. I have a goal, to put in her every single one of my Supernatural fics. BTW, if any of you **_**haven't **_**read Char and Brie Wincest, DO IT. You'll love it. Char and Brie are the SHIT. Seriously. Look It up. Char and Brie.**

Dean looked down at the table blankly, his hands wrapped around his beer. Danny, the blonde kid he'd fucked, and a cute girl from school were sitting in front of him. The difference between the two was, though, that Danny was just a fuck toy and casual friend, and Holly… well, Holly was something, all right. He trusted her, a lot more than he probably should, and she was supportive and wonderful and Dean wondered whether she was sent to him by God.

"So, Dean, what are you gonna do about this?" Holly asked him, sipping her root beer nonchalantly. Danny was still complaining that his rival was his ideal fuck's little brother.

"I don't fucking know," Dean groaned, burying his face in his arms, his beer untouched.

"Look inside yourself," Holly advised and Danny grumbled something along the lines of 'yeah, and see my ass'. "I'm sure you'll find that you really love Sam too, and you want his ass more than you want this sad loser's. Everything will work out." Dean looked up at her, glaring, while Danny complained even louder.

"You know what, Holly?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You're a damn pervert."

"I know, Dean."

Despite himself, Dean smiled. She grinned back, extremely pleased that she'd succeeded in bringing his mood up.

"I'm just worried," he sighed. "He's my brother. My baby brother. I don't know whether to blame him or blame Dad."

"Well, he can't help who he loves," she reasoned. "But why blame your dad?"

"Maybe, if we hadn't gotten into… _this_," here he made a very vague gesture, "_This _never would have happened. If we'd grown up in one town, grown up the same people. If he'd grown up with someone other than me. If he'd grown up where he didn't have to distance himself from everyone because he knew he'd leave them all in the end." Dean made a face, taking another drink. She rubbed the hand resting lazily, purposelessly, on the table.

"Dean, there's nothing you can do about this," she sighed. "It's done. Blame who you want. But from the sound of this, his feelings go deep. Remarkably so. Growing up the way he did—and see, I'm not saying that it wasn't a factor—he knows nothing but you. You're everything to him. I can see where he's coming from."

"You can see why a fifteen year old kid would _fall in love _with his older brother?" he asked flatly, but it really wasn't a question. Holly knew that and didn't say anything for a moment.

"It's done, Dean," she said softly. "And you can't do anything about it."

He didn't say anything, but he knew she was right.

***(Later that night)***

Before he found the letter, Dean would have assumed that Sam had been to lazy to aim where his skinny ass landed when he sat down so close to his brother that their thighs were pressed together and Dean could smell teenager, and well, Sam. But he _had _read the letter and he knew that Sam did it for a reason. A specific reason.

Sam spread his legs a fraction of an inch, letting his hand fall limply in between them. Dean's eyes were drawn automatically downward, tracing the crotch of Sam's Levi's. He wrenched his gaze away, blushing hotly. This was just too much.

"Are you okay, man?" Sam asked, looking up at Dean with those huge Bambi eyes. "Dean?" Sam laid a hand on Dean's arm in concern and Dean resisted the urge to flinch away. This was his _baby brother_, not a parasite.

His baby brother who was in love with him.

"I'm fine," Dean said shortly, but he knew Sam wouldn't believe it, especially when he wouldn't look at him.

Sam was persistent. "Tell the truth!" He leaned in, his crotch brushing Dean's leg.

Dean jumped up. "M'gonna, um, go pick up some chick, okay? I might be back by midnight?" It sounded like a question and on that note, scrambled out the door.

~Sam~

Sam frowned as he watched Dean practically run away from him. What had he done? Tears burned in his eyes; it wasn't fair! He was so much better than some random whore Dean could pick up at a bar! Yet Dean just didn't see it.

Sam wanted to cry. How could Dean be so thick? Did he have to show Dean the letter he'd written yesterday for him to finally get it?

Sam's eyes widened. The letter! Dean had only started acting weird today, and Sam hadn't even been in their room since he got back from his friend Angel's house fifteen minutes ago—

"NO!" Sam cried, his gangly form racing to the room they shared. "No, no, no!" He threw the door open and almost choked on tears as he saw his research-covered hiding place in disarray. "No…" he moaned again, collapsing to his knees in front of the crumpled letter on the floor. What had he done?

Sam hated crying; it made him seem so unlike Dean, but he had no choice. The tears bubbled over and he outright sobbed, for himself, for his poor, most likely dead relationship with Dean. The tears rolled off his cheeks as he choked on his sobs. He clutched the letter, the damn letter, to his chest while he cried, knowing all the while that Dean was somewhere in town trying to forget all that he knew. Now Dean was perfectly aware that he held Sam's heart in his hands, and he was trying to forget it.

"Hey, bro, what'd you do? Throw a fit and knock everything over?"

The words were as forced as Dean's smile, but he was there. Sam jumped up, backing away from his brother, wiping away the tears furiously.

"D-Dean," he whispered. "I thought you were going out."

"I was," Dean said, his smile fake but there. "But I felt bad for leaving you here alone. So I came back." Sam hiccupped as Dean leaned down to pick up the papers. Sam didn't miss the way that Dean pulled his shirt down to cover the immaculate two or three inches of tanned skin that was revealed when he leaned down.

"Dean, about the letter," Sam tried, but Dean was suddenly looking up at him, his beautiful green eyes intense.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean said sharply. "I don't know anything about a letter."

"But Dean!" Sam cried, falling to his knees besides his brother.

"Sam." That word chilled his blood. "Sam, haven't you ever wished that something never happened? I'm handing you that on a fuckin' silver platter. So just take it."

Sam was torn. It was this, he knew, or let everything between him and Dean fall apart. He'd lose his brother, forever.

"Yeah," he whispered. "I threw a fit. Got pissed. Knocked some shit over."

"The usual," Dean summarized with a forced smile, his lips twitching upward. Eyes wide, he nodded at his brother.

"Dean," he said, his expression determined.

"What is it?" Dean complained, obviously worried that Sam was going to bring it up again. He was prepared to yell, smack, and argue until Sam would let it drop. What he wasn't prepared for was… well…

Sam leaned up from his spot next to Dean on the floor, pressing his pretty pink lips to his brother's, hoping against hope that Dean would let him. Indeed, the elder sat there for a minute, his green eyes wide and boring into Sam's before he sprung backward, his expression going guarded—and panicked—again.

"What the fuck, Sam?" Dean hissed, trying not to raise his voice and failing. "Can't you just fucking let it GO!" Sam gritted his teeth, tears welling in his eyes again.

"I just…" he tried, then decided that forcing his feelings on Dean was a bad idea. "I just want a kiss. Just one, then I'll stop bothering you. I won't talk about it again."

Dean growled. "You just _got _a kiss."

"A real kiss," Sam specified, scared to death Dean would reach out and punch him. He tried the puppy dog eye thing. "Please. Kiss me." As an afterthought, he added, "With tongue, please."

Dean's expression was angry and scared. "One," he said, his voice trembling. "One… kiss… and you'll leave me alone?" Sam's heart broke with those words, but he nodded.

And slowly, slower than Sam had ever seen Dean move, he leaned down, pressing his beautiful pink lips against Sam's.

His heart skipped a beat, his lips freezing. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Dean—who looked to Sam's open eyes like he _really _didn't want to be doing this—hesitantly licked Sam's bottom lip and they parted, allowing Dean's tongue inside. Dean, trying to do it properly so that Sam wouldn't ask again, molded their lips together, his hand automatically slipping into Sam's chocolate brown curls.

Sam, unable to help himself, climbed onto Dean's lap, enjoying the first good thing that had happened recently. The best thing he'd ever had. Dean's other hand slid down to Sam's waist, pulling him closer, the kiss turning vicious. His mouth was insistent, strong, breathtaking.

The younger Winchester's cock was rock hard and he leaned forward, his body positioned where Sam's entrance would be right over Dean's cock. To his amazement, he bumped into something unexpectedly hard. Dean was as hard as he was, he realized dazedly.

Sam reached down, rubbing over it slightly, and the next thing he knew, he was panting on the floor, Dean standing, his eyes wild.

"And now it's done," his voice lashed out. "And I don't want to hear about it again.

Two weeks later, Sam brought Camy home. Dean beamed at him when they walked in, then smirked once he noticed what kind of girl Camy was. If Sam was being nice, he'd call her generous. If he wasn't being nice, he'd call her a slut. Either way. Dean was pleased.

Sam wasn't. The date lasted two hours—much longer than Sam would have liked—and while Dean and Camy hit it off, Sam didn't like her quite as much. When he borrowed the Impala to drive her home, she asked for a goodnight kiss, which Sam declined. She stormed inside after that with an angry 'call me if you ever decide I'm good enough'. Sam was slightly amused.

Then he got home and told Dean what happened. The nineteen year old—in a very Dean-like fashion—tsked at him and gave him a reproving look.

"What's wrong with Camy? I mean, you like her, right?" he asked at last, exasperated. "You like blondes, don't you?" That was the breaking point for Sam.

"No, Dean, I don't like blondes," he ground out, then snapped, "I like brunettes! With green eyes!" Dean's expression hardened and Sam just stepped forward, banging his fists on Dean's abs. "Green-eyed brunettes who sleep around and get drunk when things don't go his way! Who eat ice cream for breakfast!"

Then, he gave Dean a good, hard _shove _and pushed him down onto his bed, his eyes dark with anger. Not wasting a moment, he pounced on him, straddling him. He fisted Dean's shirt and Dean's eyes widened about to stop him from doing what he'd had nightmares about, but instead of kissing him, Sam's fist came down hard, connecting with Dean's face soundly. Dean's head was forced to the side and he stared at the wall in shock before looking up at Sam, who had his fist raised again. He dealt him another blow and Dean could feel the power behind it. He was going to have a black eye.

A bad one.

Sam's fist came up again and Dean searched Sam's face. The rage there was evident, and Dean's heart ached, knowing how much Sam was hurting. Even though he was being remarkably unreasonable.

Dean brought his hands up and tugged at Sam's collar, forcing his face down.

Dean couldn't believe what he was doing.

And when he was done doing it, he walked away and hid in the car, writing his Sammy a letter. A letter he really needed to write, because after that, he really needed some time to think, some time to get some things out of his head. Because having those things _in _his head wasn't helping.

_Dear Sam,_

_I found your letter, Sam. Or my letter. The letter you wrote me for when I'm thirty. That letter. Under mounds and mounds of research. Is that where you hide stuff you don't want me to find, Sam? Well, I'll hide this where you'll never find it. If you find this before I want you to, well, that'll be just not fucking cool, Sam._

_I don't know how to respond to that letter, Sammy, I don't. I read it and I don't know what to say, Sam. God, I love you so much Sam, but…_

_A month ago, I woke up so hard I thought I'd die. You were in my arms, Sam. Fucking damn it, Dean Winchester does not get hard for his fifteen year old brother, Sam! But I was so hard, and… you were there, Sam, so blissfully unaware. I was horrified, Sam._

_Then I read your little confession, Sam. I read it and everything made sense, Sam. I'm not stupid, you little GIRL. I notice how you look at me, like you're drowning and I'm the only fucking one that can save you. You don't look at anyone else like that, Sam. Not Dad, not Bobby, not anyone. Believe __me__, kid, I've tried to find someone you look at like that. There isn't anyone, Sam. Then, I tried to rationalize it. I tried to tell myself that you were just a super-fucking-doting younger brother. But then I found your letter._

_You're my little brother, Sam. We're brothers, Sam! Fucking blood brothers, Sam! This… this sick, twisted infatuation you have with me, it needs to stop, Sam. It's wrong, it's sick, it's twisted._

_And do you want to know a secret, Sam? Something I'd never tell you in a million years? I got hard, Sam. I got so hard, knowing how you felt about me, Sam. How you feel. _

_I'm just like you, Sam. I'd never tell you any of this in person. Ever. Not in a million years. Maybe, when you go off to college and leave us all behind for good, I'll send you this letter, Sam._

_God, Sam, how long? How long? I seriously want to know. How long have you been harboring this… crush on me, huh? If I'm such an idiot, explain it to me. How long is 'long'? Sammy, I don't know what to do with you. I seriously don't. Sometimes you're the angel brother, and others you're doing that thing where you stare at me so dreamily that I can't help but look away and hope you didn't notice I'd noticed you._

_Who am I kidding? I've known for so long, Sammy, I just didn't want to admit it. How do you admit something like that to yourself? No one wants to know that their totally fucked up little brother was in love with them. You're right, Sam. It's incest, Sam. It's so fucking wrong, Sam._

_But I see your face when you find out about girls I fuck, and all of a sudden I get reminded about how damn fucked up you are. Because it's true, Sam. You're fucked up. I won't sugar-coat the obvious. You need help, baby brother, real help. I want to help you, Sam. How do I do that without getting fucked up, too. Because I don't think I can._

_God, I wish we could just be normal. If I could, Sam, I'd take you away in the middle of the night, Sam, and we'd go somewhere no one else could find us, not even Dad. I'd hide from Dad, Sammy, for you. I'd fucking hide us in Japan if it'd keep you happy and safe. John, Dad, he might not find us there for a good long time, Sam._

_I almost did last year, Sam. Bait, when Dad wanted to lure the stupid homo incubus out with you, Sam. I almost packed us up and escaped to Bobby's until Dad'd screwed his head on straight. I'd do anything for you, Sam._

_When I read your letter, I wanted to hide you away for a very long time. I cried. For the first time since Mom died, I fucking cried. I sobbed like a girl, while I jerked off._

_I don't want this, Sam. It's jut going to fuck you up more and I really don't want to do that to you. Because I will, Sammy. I'll lay down and pretend I want it to keep you happy, Sam. If you asked me, I'd do it, Sammy. Because I love you so fucking much. Fuck you, Sam. Fuck you because I'd bend over backwards to keep you happy and safe. Hell, I'd bend over sideways. I love you._

_But I don't __love __you. Or at least I don't think I do. You're my baby brother, Sammy. You're my blood brother, Sam. Not my hand-picked-by-God soul mate._

_I don't think so, at least._

_Anyway, Sam, what I'm trying to say here is... I don't know what I'm trying to say! I'm confused, Sam! I'll probably be confused until there isn't' anything to be confused about anymore!_

_My instincts, Sammy, are trained to find you and tell you you're nuts, but I have the impression you'll break if I do, Sam. I can't break you, Sam. I'd kill myself._

_Because I do love you, you dolt. A lot. More than anything, because __you__, Sam(antha) Winchester, you are my life. Some of it is John, I'll admit. It's drilled into my head at this point: protect Sam, keep Sam safe._

_But I have my own goal that's just as important: keep Sam happy._

_I want you happy, Sam. You cry, I cry. That's how it works. Dammit, Sammy, I just don't know anymore. You, my relationship with you, is all I have that's solid, constant. Now that __that's __changing, Sam, what do I have left? _

_I need you, Sam._

_I love you, Sam._

_I don't do the 'xoxo' thing,_

_Dean_

_PS: Your handwriting __is_ _girly, dumb nuts. You write like a fucking valley girl._

_Still not gonna do it,_

_Dean_

**I hope you enjoy and I hope to have chapter three up soon.**

**Kandakicksass is OUT, ya'll!**


	3. Chapter 3

**It's not the speediest update ever, but it's an update, okay? Please enjoy the final chapter for Dear Dean, I Love You!**

Time passed slowly for both of the Winchester brothers. Night after night, Sam would watch his brother pretend to sleep, facing away from him, feet away. And Sam would be hurt because Dean would insist on having his own bed, and if Sam climbed into it, it would be "not fucking cool" in Dean's opinion, and Sam would find himself rolled onto the floor.

Dean wasn't much better off; he was hurting, too. He loved his brother more than life itself, but every time Sam tried even being _brothers _Dean would remember why he was hurting in the first place and he wouldn't even be able to look at Sam. That was hurting both of them, but Dean didn't see how he could help that. He was pretty sure he couldn't.

Of course, the distance between them couldn't last, and one night Dean woke up to find Sam standing over him, crying silently, biting his lip to stay quiet, and Dean just couldn't watch him cry. He felt like he was going to cry himself, watching his little brother suffer through such anguish. Dean wordlessly scooted over, pulling the covers back, and opened his arms. Sam had hiccupped, staring down at him in disbelief, before he'd climbed into bed and curled up in Dean's arms, burying his head in between his brother's jaw and his shoulder, and Dean held him until his tears had dried and he'd fallen asleep.

At first, Dean had wanted to pick him up and set him down on his own bed, but one glance at his brother's sleeping face and every ounce resolve in him shattered. He gulped as if he had just noticed how beautiful Sam was, then sighed.

"Sam, you little shit," he murmured, then leaned down, kissing Sam's lips softly. In his sleep, his breath hitched for a moment before evening out again. Dean had to think very, very hard to resist calling him _cute_.

So Dean just allowed himself a small smile and got comfortable, his arms around his adorable baby brother, not even once questioning the relationship, or the way his adorable baby brother made him feel.

**Insert astricts here (FF GIMME MEH ASTRICTS BACK!)**

Sam woke up exhausted, but at the same time he was refreshed. Rejuvenated. He'd felt like he'd slept all night in a Jacuzzi—the water relaxing him but refusing to let him stay in deep enough sleep.

Then he realized that he was in Dean's arms, and that the nineteen year old was holding him, completely awake and smiling. Sam blinked in shock as a hand came up, brushed a curl off his forehead, and Dean kissed the small patch of creamy skin softly.

"Ice cream or pancakes?" he asked but Sam didn't answer; he sat up, propping himself on one arm, giving Dean a look that almost broke his heart.

"What's going on?" he asked, his lower lip trembling. "Am I dreaming?"

Dean still felt uncomfortable, but underneath the layer of _oh god this is my brother _he felt a deep calm, and a sense of _comfort_. This was right, no matter how wrong it was.

So Dean just rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his own arm before leaning in, kissing Sam chastely on the lips and getting out of bed.

"Ice cream or pancakes?" he repeated with a smile. "I promise I won't burn them."

Sam couldn't believe it. "… pancakes," he breathed and Dean flashed him a grin and pulled a pair of jeans on over his boxers. "Pancakes," he whispered as Dean left.

Sam looked down at himself—clad only in a pair of loose pajama pants that had fallen to rest low on his hips—then back up at the door Dean had just walked through, his eyes wide. He looked down again, pinching his thigh with his knuckles. He let out a screech; it _hurt_.

"I'm awake," he said, amazed, before jolting out of bed. He had to make sure he wasn't reading too much into this. He scrambled across the floor, almost tripping on Dean's rifle (which wouldn't have been good) and going head first into a suitcase full of artillery (definitely not good). He managed to maneuver around the gun, however, and scurried into the kitchen. He stood in the entrance, watching Dean in fascination. He gulped, then padded forward, making sure Dean heard him, and wrapped his arms around his brother's torso, dropping a sweet kiss in between the brunette's shoulder blades.

Dean stiffened for a moment and Sam almost started to cry, but then all at once, Dean relaxed and he twisted so he could give Sam a shit-eating grin.

"So early, Sammy," he said with a lascivious wag of the eyebrows. "Before breakfast?"

Sam's eyes popped.

"I'm really not dreaming?" he screeched and Dean blinked. They stared at each other in silence before Dean started laughing, quietly at first, then loudly.

"No," he managed to gasp. "You're definitely awake."

When he sobered, he wrapped his arms around Sam and chuckled, hoisting him into the air. Sam squeaked and wrapped his arms tightly around Dean's neck as Dean slowly began to spin him around.

"You're definitely not asleep," Dean confirmed with a grin, kissing Sam on the lips again.

"What's going on?" Sam asked breathily. "What happened?"

Dean just whirled him around some more. "I dunno," he said, shrugging lightly. "Maybe I gave up trying to be good and I decided that it's better for you if I'm bad."

"Be bad," Sam whispered, his voice ecstatic. "You go ahead and be very, very bad—" Dean attacked his lips and he almost laughed. "Be very bad_ after breakfast_—hey, Dean, I thought you said you wouldn't burn the pancakes?"

**Insert astricts here (FF GIMME MEH ASTRICTS BACK!)**

Sam watched his brother idly, his plate resting on his stomach, as Dean finished his unhealthily-charred pancakes. They may have been burnt to hell, but Sam wouldn't have traded them for anything. Dean noticed his awed staring and chuckled at him, nudging Sam's foot with his own.

Dean set his plate on the nightstand, hovering over him with a smile that made Sam's insides turn to goo.

"Time to be bad?" he purred and Sam nodded ecstatically.

"I'm all up for being bad," he breathed. Dean laughed and it was the lightest sound he'd heard Dean make in months. Sam just stared up at him in awe, admiring Dean's beautiful emerald eyes to the point that he didn't notice Dean had leaned down and captured his lips until after the fact.

Sam had been kissed before, but this—this was something else. There was just something about the way Dean's lips moved against his, happily and lustfully and all these other emotions that Sam couldn't voice even if he had wanted to. Somehow, both of his hands found themselves slung around his other brother's neck, his fingers curling into the short hair at the base of Dean's neck, and damn if Dean wanted him to move at some point because he had no plans to.

The kiss just got more heated when Sam parted his lips like an offering, and Dean accepted without missing a beat, joining Sam's tongue and begging him to participate. While their kiss became furious, passionate and almost delirious, Dean's hands wandered the length of Sam's shirtless chest, running his thumb over one stiff nipple. Sam shuddered, and Dean smirked against his lips.

The hand that wasn't preoccupied playing with his nipple went to his groin and was met with a very hard length that was pushing Sam's loose cotton pajama pants.

"Eager, are we?" Sam blushed, that hot pink color burning over his cheeks, and it darked when he looked up at his brother, only to watch him lick his lips. He couldn't help but let out a small moan as that horribly wonderful hand traced a line from the base to the tip of his clothed erection.

"Oh, god," Sam whimpered. "So… how can it feel so good when you've barely done anything?"

Dean laughed, the sound low and husky. "Magic, baby brother. Or horomones. Those help, too."

Sam nodded, digging his toes into the bedsheets. His breathing had become irregular the moment Dean's hand touched him, but when he slid that hand into his pants, gripping his cock surprisingly firmly, he had to let out yet another—much louder—moan and thrust up into that warm hand.

Dean's mouth migrated to his neck, leaving little hickies and nips and god knows what else. At one point, he was pretty sure Dean had bit him… but hell if he cared. He was lost in the pleasure, the dizzying feeling of finally getting what he wanted. His pain receptors weren't working, so much that all of the fingering he had done himself—the fingering he was _never _going to admit to Dean—probably would be useless because he wouldn't be able to feel the pain anyway.

"Sammy, how far do you want this thing to go?" Dean asked, his breath hot against his brother's neck, and just to puncuate the sentence, he left a little kiss where his breath had been.

"I'm up for it all," he breathed. "Whatever you're willing to give me." Was it just him or did he sound a little desperate?

Dean laughed again. "What, are you going to start begging me now, Sammy boy?" Yep, he sounded desperate.

"If that's what it takes to get you to _hurry the fuck up_, then sure," Sam whispered, and Dean looked up with him with a grin.

"Watch your mouth, Sammy," he whispered back, claiming his lips again, but not before his hand released his unfufilled cock and wandered further to trace the rim of his entrance lazily.

"Oh, Dean," he moaned, the words almost unrecognizable. "Dean, you…" His words were lost as Dean pushed forward, leaving more marks on his neck. The finger was bigger than his own, but he himself had gone up to three at one point, and the size difference wasn't a big deal… for now. All he could think about was the pleasure, the never ending waves of pleasure that crashed through him.

He stopped talking all together when Dean added the second finger, the pain slightly uncomfortable, but Dean made up for it by discovering the location of his self-abused prostate, and suddenly Sam couldn't even think about the pain, let alone feel it.

He missed the next two fingers. The pain was there, but the entire time Dean kept a steady finger pressed into his prostate and he couldn't think a damn thing except how good Dean was at preparing to fuck his little brother into the mattress. Sam knew the thought alone should have squicked him, but it didn't. God, it only added fuel to the fire, knowing that in spite of all the obsticals, in spite of his brother's stubborn personality and his own fear, he was here, so close to being one with Dean he could taste it on his tongue.

He did notice, however, when Dean slid his pants off, pants that needed to be washed anyway because they were dirty with liquids Sam still found it embarrassing to talk about, even when he was in the middle of having sex with his big brother.

"This is gonna hurt, Sammy boy," Dean murmured, positioning himself between Sam's long legs, which wrapped aorund him almost automatically.

"I don't give a damn, Dean," he managed to gasp. "Just do it—oh, god, please, just do it!"

Affectionately, he nuzzled his nose into Sam's neck again and murmured a loving "watch your _fucking_ language" before he thrusted his hips forward, burying himself in his little brother's tight, warm body.

Sam's eyes popped open and his back arched above the bed. He had known it would hurt, but this—this pain was excruciating, sending ripples of agony up through his spine.

"Dean," he rasped through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. "Just a minute. Please. Just a minute."

Dean nodded; he'd been with enough virgins and done enough anal that he knew how much it hurt. He didn't know from experience how it would feel to have a large, blunt object tear into your ass, but he figured he could guess from the screams he sometimes got.

And Dean was patient, waiting until Sam gave him the go ahead. It took longer than a minute, but Dean didn't say a word; he simple stroked his hair, brushing back chocolate curls, laying feathery kisses on his face and neck when Sam took a shaky breath and nodded, letting a single tear escape.

"You sure?"

Sam nodded. "Can't hurt like a bitch forever," he whispered reassuringly.

Dean started moving, slowly at first, watching Sam's expressions like a hawk. Every wince, every little relaxation was documented for next time, and after a while, he decided that it was time to pick up the speed.

Sam's moans went from nonexistent to loud, filling the room with their lustful urgency, and now, Dean was adding to them. Little grunts, held back at first, flowed freely, making a soundtrack of their love that Dean would never forget (that may have something to do with the cheesiness of the thought, but at least Dean wouldn't forget).

He couldn't measure time; it lasted an eternity, it lasted a moment, but he knew that when Sam clamped down on him hard, a hoarse scream bubbling from his marked throat, it was over and he had a complete memory to treasure until he died. It wasn't until he released himself, shooting his load into Sam's pliant body, that he realized that he was going to hell, but that was okay, too. He would go to hell for Sam in a heartbeat.

When it was over, he just laid there, Sam resting with his head laying on his chest, his little brother's hand stroking Dean's bicep lightly, not saying anything, but he could tell by the way Sam was breathing, calmly, and the way his body was curled against Dean's that Sam was happy about the whole ordeal.

"Hey, Sammy."

Sam looked up at him with those doe eyes and Dean noticed how red his lips were. They were swollen and his hair was messy, but Dean thought he'd never looked so beautiful.

"I want you to read something, baby." Sam just nodded, his expression curious.

"Did you write me something, Dean?" he asked and Dean nodded, a quirky smile on his lips.

"Sure did. Don't take offense; I wrote it before I got my head on straight," he said, handing a wrinkled, beaten up letter to his confused little brother

Sam's eyes skimmed the first line and he looked up at Dean hesitatingly, but Dean gave him a reassuring smile and nodded toward the letter.

So Sam read it. Dean watched him, watched his expressions. He watched the tears, the blushes, and finally when Sam broke down at the end, he pulled the adorable brunette into his arms.

"I love you," he murmured.

Sam hiccupped, forcing out his answer. "I love you, too, Dean," he sobbed, burying his face in Dean's chest, smearing his tears over his naked chest, but Dean didn't say a word, he just held him.

"You know I would do anything for you, right?"

Sam nodded. "Is that why you did this, Dean? To make me happy, even though you didn't want it?" The question was soft and almost inaudible, but he had to ask. Dean looked thoughtful, and after a moment, he shook his head.

"It crossed my mind at first," he admitted. "But… last night. I saw you crying, and the first thing that hit me was that it was my fault, and that god strike me dead if you weren't the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Then I realized I could do it and be okay. I could do it, because I loved you so much there was no way I _couldn't_." Dean smiled proudly.

Sam choked on his tears, trying to laugh and ending up coughing. While Dean laughed at him, he was pulled into strong arms where he thought he might be able to stay forever.

Who said hard work wouldn't pay off?

**AAAHHH It's done! :) BUAHAHAHA! I win. Thanks for reading, everyone!**


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